


All this destruction is just a sign of my affection

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (sort of), Dark Martin, Domestic Fluff, Fantasizing, I'm Incapable of Writing Good Things Apparently, Implied Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Manipulation, So Have This Pain Train, The Love Is Requited But Buried Beneath A Ton of Fucked Up Things, Trans Male Character, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships, Web Avatar Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "The big bad spider has won, and the Mother of Puppets is so very proud of him. This is his victory. The moth caught in his web is utterly helpless, but there’s no need for it to be so afraid."Martin grew tired of being lonely and weak, and took matters into his own hands. Naturally, the most important thing in his life came with him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	All this destruction is just a sign of my affection

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses for this other than insomnia and the incapability to write normal, happy fluff. 
> 
> Terms used for Jon's anatomy: folds, chest

_ All this destruction is just a sign of my affection,  
_

_ No harm intentionally, I don't mean to cause you mess.  
_

_ Can't you read between the damage--behind the blast was my confession.  
_

_ No _ _ language could ever explain what I'm dying to express. _

Martin Blackwood has never been a rich or noteworthy man. He has lead a very modest life; he owns a simple, clean flat for a home, and very few possessions he would classify as particularly valuable. Perhaps a trinket or two from his past, an old silver spoon, all of it quite mundane. 

However, time brings change in its wake. Martin now possesses powers more valuable than anything he’d ever dared to dream of. Along with a few extra limbs, and upon his face, eyes blacker than soot, four in total. Fortunately for him, they can be hidden from the curious stares of the public. And they do come in handy quite often; the Mother of Puppets sure knows how to pick good gifts to her followers.

His once cleanly home is now covered in cobwebs, coated from ceiling to floor in silky white patterns. Martin doesn’t consider them ugly or dirty, quite the contrary. In his eyes, the weaving yarn woven from his own fingertips is fascinatingly beautiful.

Yes, Martin Blackwood is no longer a being one would feel inclined to call “human,” but one’s own fragile humanity is such an insignificant price to pay for the wonders he has now attained.

One of these wonders happens to be waiting for him at home, most likely diligently attempting to hide himself in Martin’s cupboards or closets, poor thing. If he is somehow still conscious, that is. 

Martin grins, a soft, dopey thing, as images of his newest, most precious possession float into his mind's eye. Images of soft, curly hair with silver streaks in likeness to starlight. Sharp, feral eyes with a keen gaze. 

His Treasure, an extraordinary man called Jonathan Sims.

\---------------

Martin carries himself with a quiet confidence, past his bumbling upstairs neighbour and gossiping downstairs neighbour. He greets them out of principle; there’s no reason for him to let his powers get into his head and turn him into an arrogant prick. He may be an Avatar now, but he won’t allow himself to stoop down to the level of the terrible examples he’d met when he was still human.

His keys are usually a routine weight in his hand, but today they feel almost too light. After they slide into the lock and it opens with a resounding click, he yanks the door open with perhaps a bit too much force. He has to remember to be more careful next time, or he might risk scaring his awaiting treasure.

“I’m back love! and I brought more tea!” Martin hollers into the silence, his joy now unleashed and tangible, but the flat offers no audible response, other than the pleasant hum of his webs as they recognize their weaver. His Beloved is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t startle Martin. A silly thought that he would answer, really, when Martin knows very well he’s unable to do so. He will have to search for Jon later, but for now, dinner preparations and tea brewing are calling him to the kitchen.

His lovely Jewel will surely appreciate a steaming cup of tea once his consciousness finds a way to awaken from his venom-infused nap. 

\---------------

Sometimes Martin entertains a thought of being a king in the pages of a colourful fairy tale. It's a silly escapist fancy; he is not in any way suitable for such an important position, but even Martin cannot deny that the advantages of being a powerful, wealthy ruler appeal to him.

He’d have a palace, a place of beauty and masterful architecture, from where he would carry out his visions and rule his kingdom.

And in the heart of the palace, in its innermost depths, he’d build a treasury. Not an ordinary one, no, but one with extravagant shelves stuffed to bursting with knowledge from anywhere and everywhere. A chamber decked from corner to corner in the finest pieces of artwork available, and furnished with the most luxurious cushions and pillows in the whole country. A treasury to house and protect his most prized possession; his beautiful lover, Jonathan.

A droplet of boiling water drops onto Martin’s hand. The hiss he lets out is more arachnid than human, and as he hears it echo in his own ears, he cannot help but giggle a little. No, no, if Martin Blackwood was in a fairy tale, he most certainly would not be the righteous king with a handsome, intelligent lover. 

He would be the big bad spider.  Martin realizes he doesn’t find the idea as loathsome as he probably ought to. 

There’s a sudden, forceful tug on one of his webs, signalling that his patient waiting has come to an end. His Jon has managed shrug off the immobilizing blanket of Martin’s own venom, and is now surely in need of tending to. He still hasn’t adjusted to his new home.

Martin Blackwood realizes he doesn’t need to be a wealthy king anymore. He already has a lovely treasury for his prized Jewel; his webs of treacherous silk.

Martin turns off the stove and then whirls around to walk out of his cozy kitchen. He stalks through the entire flat with deliberately rhythmic footfalls as to not startle his sleepy beloved.

Martin opens the creaky door to his bedroom and finds Jon huddled in the corner, still wrapped tight in his webs, struggling against his bonds in panic. His movements are jerky, his eyes cloudy like pools of foggy haze. His Treasure is awfully cute like this, Martin decides, so he lets him struggle for a moment longer, admiring him, before tugging him free of the webbing and then kneeling down to embrace him. 

“M-Martin…,” his Jewel stammers, voice still hoarse from disuse and spider venom. 

“Hello Jewel, how did you sleep? I’m sorry I took so long. But just look at you, already a bit healthier than last week!” Martin’s lips brush against Jon’s cheek in a tender greeting. On his skin, he tastes traces of sweat, grime and salt. So Jon has been crying. Martin tries to run his fingers through Jon’s hair in a gesture of affection and comfort, but Jon flinches and shrugs his head out of Martin’s grasp.

Martin disentangles his many limbs from the tiny frame against him and fixes him a disapproving glance. “Jon, what have we talked about refusing care when you’re in dire need of it?” He tuts at the smaller man, then with one brisk motion he sweeps him off his feet, carrying him to the bathroom like one would a petulant child. He gently scolds Jon as he walks.

“Darling, you’re dirty, groggy and in need of nutrition, you can’t keep denying my care out of spite. I’m doing what’s best for you,” Martin patiently explains, his grip around Jon tightening.

“You’re a jewel of such loveliness Jon, you require this. You deserve to be polished, lavished and cherished until you glow with happiness. And I’ll provide all of it for you, I just need you to trust me.”

His treasure is silent as Martin sets him a bath and begins undressing him.

\--------------

His Jon is so painfully adorable when bathing, Martin has to step outside of the bathroom for a moment to collect himself. It is harder than one would think, as when he exhales, the entirety of all that he keeps in his heart behind lock and key threatens to spill over its limits, bleeding into him, taking control. One of these desires, the most prominent one, surfaces in his mind. 

Martin desires to marry Jon.

The love he has for him is undoubtedly powerful enough to withstand anything on its own, yes, but he’s always had little marriage fantasies here and there. How perfect would his brilliant Jewel look in a white, billowing gown, blushed and covered in flowers. Eyes focused only on Martin, warm lips forming an awed “I do”. Pledging himself to Martin for Eternity and beyond, and Martin offering the same to him. All this wonder, completely out of his own free will.

Sadly, Martin knows such a thing will never come to pass. His Jonathan loves him, of course he does, but he is also terribly afraid, and so very scarred. He will never accept Martin’s proposal completely of his own accord. 

Fortunately, he has ways to….persuade Jon, to put it nicely. He can make his blissful daydreaming reverie a reality. It just won’t include utter consensuality from both parties. But once they’re married, their fates and lives will be even more closely entwined than before. A whole new level of trust and reciprocity between them, and Martin won’t ever have to resort to dirty tactics again.

Martin decides to shuffle back into the bathroom. It’s only him, Jon has no reason to be self-conscious or mistrusting. Martin always finds him beautiful, no matter the state he is in. 

As he listens to Jon gently drying himself off, Martin ruminates on the implications a marriage between him and his Treasure will have, the possibilities it brings.

Once Jon becomes Martin’s husband, his distrust of Martin needs to end. He knows how it eats away at Jon, mind and body alike, turning his Jewel against him. So, once unwavering trust will be built, aided by marriage, the doors to pure intimacy between them are finally free to open.

Martin remembers the conversations he’s had with Jon. How Jon would blush, clearly feeling awkward, and quietly state that he only ever considered sex for a brief physical gratification. “I’ve never been one for, ahem, passionate attraction, or any of that really. Perhaps with someone special I’d be willing to try, but even then, I must trust them wholly.” That’s what Jon had said to him, long ago, before the Mother called to him. 

Jon wishes for trust. So, Martin is going to provide him. 

Martin gazes at his Treasure, his beautiful, beautiful Jon, and decides the wait for his reward is agonizing. What else is he supposed to feel, seeing Jon at his loveliest, but never truly getting the chance to cherish those moments, to show Jon how gorgeous he is to Martin. 

And oh, he’s more gorgeous than Martin remembered.

His skin, now polished and smelling of cream and honey, dotted with scars that only add to his fragile beauty. The soft swell of his chest, coloured by dark curls of hair that Martin wants to lovingly pet. His gaunt, coltish legs, his thighs that hide a part of him Martin has never been allowed to see. He wants to see it, wants to touch it, wants his Jewel to know his own loveliness deep in his bones.

But good things are worth waiting for, and Martin is nothing if patient when it comes to his Jon. 

Jon has finished the endeavour of drying his dripping hair, apparently satisfied with the result. He turns to Martin, eyeing him for a moment in silence, then he reluctantly accepts the nightclothes handed to him. Martin smiles at the smaller man, noting that they’ve reached his favourite part of their evening routine.

“You know what comes next, don’t you? Look, I’m a patient man, but you were unconscious for a bit too long, so now you’ll have to suffer being smothered for a while,” he informs and can’t help but chuckle in amusement at Jon’s petulant glare. “Don’t look at me like that. It won’t kill you, quite the opposite actually. They say cuddling with a loved one is good for you, both mentally and physically.” His Jewel doesn’t respond, only stares at him with an unreadable expression.

Martin’s smile turns doting and sappy as he walks over and scoops an unresisting Jon up into a tight embrace. His rather disrupting thoughts from earlier still linger, and Martin can’t help but smirk against the brown throat so nicely bared to him, and playfully nips at the skin there.

His tiny treasure whimpers, and gazes into Martin’s gleaming black eyes with a distant yet prominent desperation. Then something flashes in his gaze, like lighting, quick and bright. Determination. “What happened to the Martin Blackwood I used to work alongside with?” a thin mangled hand wraps its fingers around his wrist, squeezing with a force that surprises Martin.

_“What. did. you. do_? Tell me!” he demands, forcing a nonexistent Compulsion behind each word, so very adamant and yet so very afraid, almost as if he’s expecting Martin to devour him like spider would a fly if he misbehaves. Martin sighs, a melancholic, prolonged sound. Jon cannot Compel him, he’s made very sure of that. And yet, his poor little Jewel still won’t cease trying.

“Nothing happened to that Martin Blackwood, love, he is right here; I am him, and I’ve always been. The difference is that the Martin Blackwood of the present is no longer lonely, no longer such a pathetic weakling. He has the power to protect his treasure, love him like he needs to be loved.” He surprises himself with the ease and certainty that carry his response, although his surprise is completely unwarranted. Martin’s words are the truth, or as close to the truth as Jon will ever know. 

Martin rises to his full height, cradling Jon’s form in his large embrace. Lying there, helpless and still in his arms, wrapped in sinfully soft silk nightclothes, Martin’s Beloved reminds him of a small, precious gift. And in a way, he is. Martin smiles down at Jon, and as he does so he feels a familiar overwhelming adoration creeping up from within the depths of his heart. He resumes speaking. 

“Y’know, I never took Beholding for the generous type. Bit of a hoarder, that one. But look at us now, two saplings of a wonderful future, all thanks to that damn Eye for gifting me with you.” His Jewel has focused all if his attention on him, and oh it feels so very tingly. Everything about Jon is simply lovely. Martin has never felt much gratitude for the Ceaseless Watcher, but perhaps it’s time he extended a thank you for it. Possibly along with a smug apology for a stolen Archivist. 

His life couldn’t have turned out more perfect.

“You’re going to be my husband one day, Jon, I’ll promise you that. And I’ll build us a home, and for you a treasury, where you’ll be safe and sound and spoiled so rotten that you forget the outside world ever even existed.” It isn’t only an oath, it is a certainty, that he will make sure comes to pass. 

Martin’s many fingers have begun to wander, over Jon’s taut stomach, down his sides, and then they slip between his thighs. Martin has always loved those thighs, and while appreciating the sight of them he idly entertains a fantasy of them wrapped tight around his head, crushing him. A fantasy of delicate moans, of silken folds covered in slick wetness, ready for tasting.

Jon’s protests still carry through, the corners of his mouth forming a nervous frown, but Martin finds only the absence of remorse in himself as two of his eight hands reach forward to nimbly unbutton Jon’s trousers. No, there’s absolutely no guilt, why would there be?

The only important thing remaining is the unconditional, consuming devotion that throbs in Martin’s heated chest at the sight of his Jewel, his Treasure, his Jon. The two of them are the only ones who matter in the Universe.

The big bad spider has won, and the Mother of Puppets is so very proud of him. This is his victory. The moth caught in his web is utterly helpless, but there’s no need for it to be so afraid.

“I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll keep loving you ‘till my last withering breath. My precious Jon, allow me to love you.” 

Then Martin kisses his Jon’s lips, long, languid and adoring, fills his mouth with saccharine promises and truths that cast shadows of falsehood in their cores. And Jon does not attempt to stop him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might just make this into series with a second work purely for smut....we'll see.   
> Title and lyrics in the beginning from "A Sign Of Affection" by Freesscape.   
> (Also English isn't my first language, just noting that here. Apologies for grammar mistakes born from that or my insomnia.)


End file.
